


Blackout

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Snowfall [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mutilation, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint liked children, and dogs, and juvenile games. He disapproved of unnecessary killing, loathed cruelty. <br/>But there were things he just... understood.</p><p> </p><p>Companion piece to "Before Snowfall".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Before Snowfall, and although it's not necessary, it might help to read this before continuing to Snowfall. This is a missing scene of sorts; it's what happened while Bucky had his flashback during "Before Snowfall". Narrated from Clint's POV, because I love him and he's awesome and in this universe, he's good friends with Bucky.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

**Blackout.**

 

It wasn’t the first time. He’d seen it happen before: the old-fashioned gentleman, the well-trained warrior, the light-hearted friend, they all melted away in a second when faced with one of the lowlifes that had tortured and used Bucky during his time in Hydra’s clutches; and a cold-blooded, machine-efficient, raging killer was all that was left behind.

Clint didn’t like it. He could even say he hated seeing the teammates he cared about, his friends, get violent and downright cruel with downed enemies. They were all usually very aware of the casualties and did their best to keep them to a minimum, even when they were enemy forces; they didn’t kill when there was no dire need for it. At least, that was them under what passed for normal circumstances in their weird lives. Times like this, though, Clint got it. He was intimately familiar with the desire for revenge, knew its cold fire like an old lover. So he had no difficulties standing back and watching as Bucky strode to Veselob and pushed him against the wall. He didn’t wince as Bucky’s fist impacted the old bastard’s face with a sick, wet sound.

He felt his heart break a little when Bucky let out that broken sound, a little child’s cry out of a man’s throat, but still, he held his ground. Bucky punched the old man again, and for a moment, Clint thought the impact might have actually killed him, with the way his mouth exploded in gushing red and fragments of teeth. And then, the fucker laughed. It was a nasty sound, made nastier still by the blood in his mouth.

The spy in him listened carefully to every word, paid attention to every single detail. The horror of the implications made his stomach knot, and then he saw Bucky freeze, as if a switch had been flipped, and Hawkeye was terrified for a moment, frantically replaying the words in his mind in desperate search of what could have been a trigger word, another fucking code to turn his friend sniper into a dead-eyed puppet.

  _It can’t be_ , his mind said desperately, denying what seemed to be obvious. _The program is gone, completely, for good. Strange guaranteed it!_

“They were so against it, said it would turn you into a bland weakling, that you’d be no use anymore if we cut your balls off. And then of course there was the breeding program. Not possible if the stud is turned into a gelding, they said. But we were already close enough, we didn’t need you much longer,” he choked on his own blood, coughed, disgusting red spraying out of his broken mouth. Still, the old bastard’s eyes gleamed with hate, with furious pride and fucking pleasure as he looked directly at Bucky, enjoying what his words were doing to him.

It was something of a relief to know that it was shock what kept Bucky frozen there, and not yet another hidden trigger word. Clint felt sick at how horrible it was to be relieved by that.

Steve turned to shoot the team a pleading look, obviously torn between turning on the scientist or keep holding Bucky upright.

“And it worked! The perfect soldiers were born, Hydra to blood and soul. And you were perfected, too. A single cut and you never went rogue again, you were our always loyal attack dog, never asked any questions, never again disobeyed an order. They called you soldier all the time; but a soldier is a man,” the bastard grinned, the blood making his wrinkled face look like some horrible mask, “and you weren’t one anymore, not once we were done with you. You were just an object, a weapon, an _Asset_ for…”

There was an inarticulate sound, loud and close, like a wild animal being wounded by surprise. Then, there was the familiar sound of the string being let loose, the satisfying sight of an arrow embedding itself right on target, followed by ragged breath.

It took Clint a couple of seconds to realize the sound had escaped from his own throat, that he’d shot the arrow without a second thought. He saw the man slump down, the wall behind his back smeared with blood as he slid to the floor, surprise in his eyes as his hands clawed at the arrow that had caught him right in his open mouth, torn his tongue and nailed it to the back of his throat.

Almost by instinct, Clint knew what kind of arrow it was, with a thin, tapered, sharp tip that wouldn’t shred too much, the shaft almost sealing the wound so the victim wouldn’t bleed out too fast, would be alive and awake to be questioned. Except this time, Clint didn’t mean to question the enemy. No, he just wanted him to suffer, to shut up and to suffer… for as long as possible.

Clint liked children, and dogs, and juvenile games. He disapproved of unnecessary killing, loathed cruelty.

He felt his heart break hearing the tone in Steve’s voice as he tried to bring his lover back to the real world, by the sound of Bucky throwing up and the anguished noises that seemed to be torn from deep in his chest, by the way Steve was holding Bucky as if he was a shattered ice statue barely kept together in his arms.

He felt pure satisfaction at the choking noises out of Veselob’s throat. He didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

He’d never had any sympathy for monsters.

 

 


End file.
